XXIV
NICK LANSING had walked out a long way into the Campagna. His hours wereseldom his own, for both Mr. and Mrs. Hicks were becoming more and moreaddicted to sudden and somewhat imperious demands upon his time; but onthis occasion he had simply slipped away after luncheon, and taking thetram to the Porta Salaria, had wandered on thence in the direction ofthe Ponte Nomentano.
He wanted to get away and think; but now that he had done it thebusiness proved as unfruitful as everything he had put his hand to sincehe had left Venice. Think--think about what? His future seemed to hima negligible matter since he had received, two months earlier, the fewlines in which Susy had asked him for her freedom.
The letter had been a shock--though he had fancied himself so preparedfor it--yet it had also, in another sense, been a relief, since, nowthat at last circumstances compelled him to write to her, they also toldhim what to say. And he had said it as briefly and simply as possible,telling her that he would put no obstacle in the way of her release,that he held himself at her lawyer's disposal to answer any furthercommunication--and that he would never forget their days together, orcease to bless her for them.
That was all. He gave his Roman banker's address, and waited for anotherletter; but none came. Probably the "formalities," whatever they were,took longer than he had supposed; and being in no haste to recover hisown liberty, he did not try to learn the cause of the delay. From thatmoment, however, he considered himself virtually free, and ceased, bythe same token, to take any interest in his own future. His life seemedas flat as a convalescent's first days after the fever has dropped.
The only thing he was sure of was that he was not going to remain inthe Hickses' employ: when they left Rome for Central Asia he had nointention of accompanying them. The part of Mr. Buttles' successor wasbecoming daily more intolerable to him, for the very reasons that hadprobably made it most gratifying to Mr. Buttles. To be treated by Mr.and Mrs. Hicks as a paid oracle, a paraded and petted piece of property,was a good deal more distasteful than he could have imagined anyrelation with these kindly people could be. And since their aspirationshad become frankly social he found his task, if easier, yet far lesscongenial than during his first months with them. He preferred patientlyexplaining to Mrs. Hicks, for the hundredth time, that Sassanian andSaracenic were not interchangeable terms, to unravelling for her thegenealogies of her titled guests, and reminding her, when she "seated"her dinner-parties, that Dukes ranked higher than Princes. No--the jobwas decidedly intolerable; and he would have to look out for anothermeans of earning his living. But that was not what he had really gotaway to think about. He knew he should never starve; he had even begunto believe again in his book. What he wanted to think of was Susy--orrather, it was Susy that he could not help thinking of, on whatevertrain of thought he set out.
Again and again he fancied he had established a truce with the past: hadcome to terms--the terms of defeat and failure with that bright enemycalled happiness. And, in truth, he had reached the point of definitelyknowing that he could never return to the kind of life that he and Susyhad embarked on. It had been the tragedy, of their relation that lovingher roused in him ideals she could never satisfy. He had fallen inlove with her because she was, like himself, amused, unprejudiced anddisenchanted; and he could not go on loving her unless she ceased tobe all these things. From that circle there was no issue, and in it hedesperately revolved.
If he had not heard such persistent rumours of her re-marriage to LordAltringham he might have tried to see her again; but, aware of thedanger and the hopelessness of a meeting, he was, on the whole, glad tohave a reason for avoiding it. Such, at least, he honestly supposed tobe his state of mind until he found himself, as on this occasion, freeto follow out his thought to its end. That end, invariably, was Susy;not the bundle of qualities and defects into which his criticalspirit had tried to sort her out, but the soft blur of identity, ofpersonality, of eyes, hair, mouth, laugh, tricks of speech and gesture,that were all so solely and profoundly her own, and yet so mysteriouslyindependent of what she might do, say, think, in crucial circumstances.He remembered her once saying to him: "After all, you were rightwhen you wanted me to be your mistress," and the indignant stare ofincredulity with which he had answered her. Yet in these hours itwas the palpable image of her that clung closest, till, as invariablyhappened, his vision came full circle, and feeling her on his breast hewanted her also in his soul.
Well--such all-encompassing loves were the rarest of human experiences;he smiled at his presumption in wanting no other. Wearily he turned, andtramped homeward through the winter twilight....
At the door of the hotel he ran across the Prince of Teutoburg'saide-de-camp. They had not met for some days, and Nick had a vaguefeeling that if the Prince's matrimonial designs took definite shape hehimself was not likely, after all, to be their chosen exponent. Hehad surprised, now and then, a certain distrustful coldness under thePrincess Mother's cordial glance, and had concluded that she perhapssuspected him of being an obstacle to her son's aspirations. He had noidea of playing that part, but was not sorry to appear to; for he wassincerely attached to Coral Hicks, and hoped for her a more human fatethan that of becoming Prince Anastasius's consort.
This evening, however, he was struck by the beaming alacrity of theaide-de-camp's greeting. Whatever cloud had hung between them hadlifted: the Teutoburg clan, for one reason or another, no longer fearedor distrusted him. The change was conveyed in a mere hand-pressure,a brief exchange of words, for the aide-de-camp was hastening after awell-known dowager of the old Roman world, whom he helped into a largecoronetted brougham which looked as if it had been extracted, forsome ceremonial purpose, from a museum of historic vehicles. And in aninstant it flashed on Lansing that this lady had been the person chosento lay the Prince's offer at Miss Hicks's feet.
The discovery piqued him; and instead of making straight for his ownroom he went up to Mrs. Hicks's drawing-room.
The room was empty, but traces of elaborate tea pervaded it, and animmense bouquet of stiff roses lay on the centre table. As he turnedaway, Eldorada Tooker, flushed and tear-stained, abruptly entered.
"Oh, Mr. Lansing--we were looking everywhere for you."
"Looking for me?"
"Yes. Coral especially... she wants to see you. She wants you to come toher own sitting-room."
She led him across the ante-chamber and down the passage to the separatesuite which Miss Hicks inhabited. On the threshold Eldorada gasped outemotionally: "You'll find her looking lovely--" and jerked away with asob as he entered.
Coral Hicks was never lovely: but she certainly looked unusuallyhandsome. Perhaps it was the long dress of black velvet which, outlinedagainst a shaded lamp, made her strong build seem slenderer, or perhapsthe slight flush on her dusky cheek: a bloom of womanhood hung uponher which she made no effort to dissemble. Indeed, it was one of heroriginalities that she always gravely and courageously revealed theutmost of whatever mood possessed her.
"How splendid you look!" he said, smiling at her.
She threw her head back and gazed him straight in the eyes. "That'sgoing to be my future job."
"To look splendid?"
"Yes."
"And wear a crown?"
"And wear a crown...."
They continued to consider each other without speaking. Nick's heartcontracted with pity and perplexity.
"Oh, Coral--it's not decided?"
She scrutinized him for a last penetrating moment; then she looked away."I'm never long deciding."
He hesitated, choking with contradictory impulses, and afraid toformulate any, lest they should either mislead or pain her.
"Why didn't you tell me?" he questioned lamely; and instantly perceivedhis blunder.
She sat down, and looked up at him under brooding lashes--had he evernoticed the thickness of her lashes before?
"Would it have made any difference if I had told you?"
"Any difference--?"
"Sit down by me," she comm
anded. "I want to talk to you. You can saynow whatever you might have said sooner. I'm not married yet: I'm stillfree."
"You haven't given your answer?"
"It doesn't matter if I have."
The retort frightened him with the glimpse of what she still expected ofhim, and what he was still so unable to give.
"That means you've said yes?" he pursued, to gain time.
"Yes or no--it doesn't matter. I had to say something. What I want isyour advice."
"At the eleventh hour?"
"Or the twelfth." She paused. "What shall I do?" she questioned, with asudden accent of helplessness.
He looked at her as helplessly. He could not say: "Ask yourself--askyour parents." Her next word would sweep away such frail hypocrisies.Her "What shall I do?" meant "What are you going to do?" and he knew it,and knew that she knew it.
"I'm a bad person to give any one matrimonial advice," he began, with astrained smile; "but I had such a different vision for you."
"What kind of a vision?" She was merciless.
"Merely what people call happiness, dear."
"'People call'--you see you don't believe in it yourself! Well, neitherdo I--in that form, at any rate."
He considered. "I believe in trying for it--even if the trying's thebest of it."
"Well, I've tried, and failed. And I'm twenty-two, and I never wasyoung. I suppose I haven't enough imagination." She drew a deep breath."Now I want something different." She appeared to search for the word."I want to be--prominent," she declared.
"Prominent?"
She reddened swarthily. "Oh, you smile--you think it's ridiculous: itdoesn't seem worth while to you. That's because you've always had allthose things. But I haven't. I know what father pushed up from, andI want to push up as high again--higher. No, I haven't got muchimagination. I've always liked Facts. And I find I shall like the factof being a Princess--choosing the people I associate with, and being upabove all these European grandees that father and mother bow down to,though they think they despise them. You can be up above these people byjust being yourself; you know how. But I need a platform--a sky-scraper.Father and mother slaved to give me my education. They thought educationwas the important thing; but, since we've all three of us got mediocreminds, it has just landed us among mediocre people. Don't you suppose Isee through all the sham science and sham art and sham everything we'resurrounded with? That's why I want to buy a place at the very top, whereI shall be powerful enough to get about me the people I want, the bigpeople, the right people, and to help them I want to promote culture,like those Renaissance women you're always talking about. I want to doit for Apex City; do you understand? And for father and mother too. Iwant all those titles carved on my tombstone. They're facts, anyhow!Don't laugh at me...." She broke off with one of her clumsy smiles, andmoved away from him to the other end of the room.
He sat looking at her with a curious feeling of admiration. Her harshpositivism was like a tonic to his disenchanted mood, and he thought:"What a pity!"
Aloud he said: "I don't feel like laughing at you. You're a greatwoman."
"Then I shall be a great Princess."
"Oh--but you might have been something so much greater!"
Her face flamed again. "Don't say that!"
He stood up involuntarily, and drew near her.
"Why not?"
"Because you're the only man with whom I can imagine the other kind ofgreatness."
It moved him--moved him unexpectedly. He got as far as saying tohimself: "Good God, if she were not so hideously rich--" and then ofyielding for a moment to the persuasive vision of all that he and shemight do with those very riches which he dreaded. After all, there wasnothing mean in her ideals they were hard and material, in keeping withher primitive and massive person; but they had a certain grim nobility.And when she spoke of "the other kind of greatness" he knew that sheunderstood what she was talking of, and was not merely saying somethingto draw him on, to get him to commit himself. There was not a drop ofguile in her, except that which her very honesty distilled.
"The other kind of greatness?" he repeated.
"Well, isn't that what you said happiness was? I wanted to be happy...but one can't choose."
He went up to her. "No, one can't choose. And how can anyone give youhappiness who hasn't got it himself?" He took her hands, feeling howlarge, muscular and voluntary they were, even as they melted in hispalms.
"My poor Coral, of what use can I ever be to you? What you need is to beloved."
She drew back and gave him one of her straight strong glances: "No," shesaid gallantly, "but just to love."